Melissa and Percy Jackson save Olympus
by MissesLeoValdez
Summary: Twins Melissa and Percy Jackson had always had weird and unusual things happen to them and around them and had been to more schools than you could name. But a school trip to a museum and a math teacher turning into an ugly bat type thing has the questioning if they are mortal or not. Percy Jackson and The Olympians re-write. Please R/R
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 - Introduction **

* * *

Look, I didn't sign-up to be a half-blood.

If you're reading this because you think you might be one, this is my advice is: close this book right now.

No seriously, close it.

Believe what-ever lie your mom or dad told you about your birth, and try your best to lead a normal life.

Ignore all the people trying to kill you and your weird powers.

Being a half-blood is really dangerous. It is scary. Most of the time, it gets you killed in painful, nasty ways.

If you're a normal kid, reading this because you think it's fiction, great. Read on. Seriously, read on.

I envy you for being able to believe that none of this ever happened.

'Cause it's inevitable for me to say that didn't.

But if you recognize yourself in these pages - if you feel something stirring inside - stop reading immediately. You might be one of us. And once you know that, it's only a matter of time before they sense it too, and they'll come for you. Who? You'll find out soon.

Don't say I didn't warn you.

My name is Melissa Jackson.

I'm twelve years old. Until a few months ago, my twin brother, Percy and I were boarding students at Yancy Academy, a private school for troubled kids in upstate New York.

I know, how accurate, right?

Am I a troubled kid?

Yeah. I guess you could say that.

I could start at any point in my short miserable life to prove it, but things really started going bad last May, when our sixth-grade class took a field trip to Manhattan- twenty-eight mental-case kids and two teachers on a yellow school bus, heading to the Metropolitan Museum of Art to look at ancient Greek and Roman stuff.

I know-it sounds like torture. Most Yancy field trips were.

But Mr. Brunner, our Latin teacher, was leading this trip, so I had hopes.

Mr. Brunner was this middle-aged guy in a motorized wheelchair. He had thinning hair and a scruffy beard and a frayed tweed jacket, which always smelled like coffee. You wouldn't think he'd be cool, but he told stories and jokes and let us play games in class. He also had this awesome collection of Roman armor and weapons, so he was the only teacher whose class didn't put me to sleep. Percy would say the exact same thing if you asked.

I hoped the trip would be okay. At least, I hoped that for once we wouldn't get in trouble.

Boy, was I wrong.

See, bad things happen to me and Percy on field trips. Like at our fifth-grade school, when we went to the Saratoga battlefield, Percy had this accident with a Revolutionary War cannon. He wasn't aiming for the school bus, but of course he got expelled anyway. me along with him. And before that, at our fourth-grade school, when we took a behind-the-scenes tour of the Marine World shark pool, I sort of hit the wrong lever on the catwalk and our class took an unplanned swim. And the time before that... Well, you get the idea.

This trip though, I was determined to be good, and I prayed to god that Percy had the same idea.


	2. Pre-Algebra Teacher of Your Nightmares

**Chapter 2 - The Pre-Algebra Teacher of Your Nightmares**

* * *

All the way into the city, we put up with Nancy Bobofit, the freckly, redheaded kleptomaniac girl, hitting our best friend Grover in the back of the head with chunks of peanut butter-and-ketchup sandwich.

Grover was an easy target. He was scrawny. He cried when he got frustrated. He must've been held back several grades, because he was the only sixth grader with acne and the start of a wispy beard on his chin. On top of all that, he was crippled. He had a note excusing him from PE for the rest of his life because he had some kind of muscular disease in his legs. He walked funny, like every step hurt him, but don't let that fool you. You should've seen him run when it was enchilada day in the cafeteria. He was adorable though.

Anyway, Nancy Bobofit was throwing wads of sandwich that stuck in his curly brown hair, and she knew I couldn't do anything back to her because I was already on probation. The headmaster had threatened me with death by in-school suspension if anything bad, embarrassing, or even mildly entertaining happened on this trip.

"I'm going to kill her, " Percy mumbled.

"Percy don't," I said looking at him.

Grover tried to calm him down. "It's okay. I like peanut butter. "

That's why I liked Grover, he could make light of any situation.

He dodged another piece of Nancy's lunch.

"That's it. " Percy started to get up, but Grover pulled him back to his seat.

"You're already on probation, " he reminded him.

"You know who'll get blamed if anything happens." I reminded him.

Looking back on it now, I wish he'd decked Nancy Bobofit right then and there. In-school suspension would've been nothing compared to the mess we were about to get into.

Mr. Brunner led the museum tour.

He rode up front in his wheelchair, guiding us through the big echoey galleries, past marble statues and glass cases full of really old black-and-orange pottery.

It blew my mind that this stuff had survived for two thousand, even three thousand years.

He gathered us around a thirteen-foot-tall stone column with a big sphinx on the top, and started telling us how it was a grave marker, a stele, for a girl about our age. He told us about the carvings on the sides. I was trying to listen to what he had to say, because it was kind of interesting, but everybody around me was talking, and every time I told them to shut up, the other teacher chaperone, Mrs. Dodds, would give me the evil eye.

Mrs. Dodds was this little math teacher from Georgia who always wore a black leather jacket, even though she was like fifty years old. She looked mean enough to ride a Harley right into your locker. She had come to Yancy halfway through the year, when our last math teacher had a nervous breakdown.

From her first day, Mrs. Dodds loved Nancy Bobofit and figured Percy and I were devil spawn. She would point her crooked finger at me and say, "Now, honey," real sweet, and I just knew that I was going to get after-school detention for a month.

One time, after she'd made Percy erase answers out of old math workbooks until midnight, he told Grover he didn't think Mrs. Dodds was human. He looked at us, real serious, and said, "You're absolutely right." I always thought it was weird how serious he sounded.

Mr. Brunner kept talking about Greek funeral art.

Finally, Nancy Bobofit snickered something about the naked guy on the stele, and Percy turned around and said, "Will you shut up?"

It came out louder than he'd meant it to.

The whole group laughed. Mr. Brunner stopped his story.

"Mr. Jackson, " he said, "did you have a comment?"

My face was totally red. I said, "No, sir. "

Mr. Brunner pointed to one of the pictures on the stele. "Perhaps you'll tell us what this picture represents?"

He looked at the carving, and recognized it. "That's Kronos eating his kids, right?"

"Yes, " Mr. Brunner said, obviously not satisfied. "And he did this because ... "

"Well... " He racked my brain to remember. "Kronos was the king god, and-"

"God?" Mr. Brunner asked.

"Titan, " He corrected. "And ... He didn't trust his kids, who were the gods. So, um, Kronos ate them, right? But his wife hid baby Zeus, and gave Kronos a rock to eat instead. And later, when Zeus grew up, he tricked his dad, Kronos, into barfing up his brothers and sisters-"

"Eeew!" said one of the girls behind me.

"-and so there was this big fight between the gods and the Titans, " I continued, "and the gods won. "

Some snickers from the group.

Behind me, Nancy Bobofit mumbled to a friend, "Like we're going to use this in real life. Like it's going to say on our job applications, 'Please explain why Kronos ate his kids.' "

"And why, Mr. Jackson," Brunner said, "to paraphrase Miss Bobofit's excellent question, does this matter in real life?"

"Busted," I muttered.

"Shut up," Nancy hissed, her face even brighter red than her hair I stiffled a giggle.

At least Nancy got packed, too. Mr. Brunner was the only one who ever caught her saying anything wrong. He had radar ears.

I thought about his question, and shrugged. "I don't know, sir. "

"I see." Mr. Brunner looked disappointed. "Well, half credit, Mr. Jackson. Zeus did indeed feed Kronos a mixture of mustard and wine, which made him disgorge his other five children, who, of course, being immortal gods, had been living and growing up completely undigested in the Titan's stomach. The gods defeated their father, sliced him to pieces with his own scythe, and scattered his remains in Tartarus, the darkest part of the Underworld. On that happy note, it's time for lunch. Mrs. Dodds, would you lead us back outside?"

The class drifted off, the girls holding their stomachs, the guys pushing each other around and acting like idiots.

We were about to follow when Mr. Brunner said, "Mr. Jackson, Ms. Jackson."

I told Grover to keep going. Then we turned toward Mr. Brunner. "Sir?" We both asked.

Mr. Brunner had this look that wouldn't let you go - intense brown eyes that could've been a thousand years old and had seen everything.

"You must learn the answer to my question Mr. Jackson," Mr. Brunner told me.

"About the Titans?"

"About real life. And how your studies apply to it. "

"Oh. "

"What you learn from me, " he said, "is vitally important. I expect you to treat it as such. I will accept only the best from you, Percy Jackson, you to Melissa."

I wanted to get angry, this guy pushed me so hard.

I knew that was coming.

I mean, sure, it was kind of cool on tournament days, when he dressed up in a suit of Roman armor and shouted: "What ho!'" and challenged us, sword-point against chalk, to run to the board and name every Greek and Roman per-son who had ever lived, and their mother, and what god they worshiped.

But Mr. Brunner expected Percy and I to be as good as everybody else, despite the fact that we have dyslexia and attention deficit disorder and have never made above a C- in our lives. No - he didn't expect us to be as good; he expected us to be better. And I just couldn't learn all those names and facts, much less spell them correctly.

I mumbled something about trying harder, while Mr. Brunner took one long sad look at the stele, like he'd been at this girl's funeral.

He told us to go outside and eat our lunch.

The class gathered on the front steps of the museum, where we could watch the foot traffic along Fifth Avenue.

Overhead, a huge storm was brewing, with clouds blacker than I'd ever seen over the city. I figured maybe it was global warming or something, because the weather all across New York state had been weird since Christmas. We'd had massive snow storms, flooding, wildfires from lightning strikes. I wouldn't have been surprised if this was a hurricane blowing in.

Nobody else seemed to notice. Some of the guys were pelting pigeons with Lunchables crackers. Nancy Bobofit was trying to pickpocket something from a lady's purse, and, of course, Mrs. Dodds wasn't seeing a thing.

Grover, Percy and I sat on the edge of the fountain, away from the others. We thought that maybe if we did that, everybody wouldn't know we were from that school - the school for loser freaks who couldn't make it elsewhere.

"Detention?" Grover asked.

"Nah," I said. "Not from Brunner. I just wish he'd lay off sometimes. I mean - we're not a geniuses."

Grover didn't say anything for a while. Then, when I thought he was going to give us some deep philosophical comment to make us feel better, he said, "Can I have your apple?"

I didn't have much of an appetite, so I let him take it.

I watched the stream of cabs going down Fifth Avenue, and thought about my mom's apartment, only a little ways uptown from where we sat. I hadn't seen her since Christmas. I wanted so bad to jump in a taxi and head home. She'd hug me and be glad to see me, but she'd be disappointed, too. She'd send me right back to Yancy, remind me that I had to try harder, even if this was my sixth school in six years and I was probably going to be kicked out again. I wouldn't be able to stand that sad look she'd give me.

Mr. Brunner parked his wheelchair at the base of the handicapped ramp. He ate celery while he read a paperback novel. A red umbrella stuck up from the back of his chair, making it look like a motorized cafe table.

I was about to unwrap my sandwich when Nancy Bobofit appeared in front of us with her ugly friends - I guess she'd gotten tired of stealing from the tourists - and dumped her half-eaten lunch in Grover's lap.

"Oops." She grinned at me with her crooked teeth. Her freckles were orange, as if somebody had spray- painted her face with liquid Cheetos.

I tried to stay cool. The school counselor had told me a million times, "Count to ten, get control of your temper.

I learned that easily, but Percy...

I don't remember him touching her, but the next thing I knew, Nancy was sitting on her butt in the fountain, screaming, "Percy pushed me!"

Mrs. Dodds materialized next to us.

Some of the kids were whispering: "Did you see-"

"-the water-"

"-like it grabbed her-"

I didn't know what they were talking about. All I knew was that Percy was in trouble again.

As soon as Mrs. Dodds was sure poor little Nancy was okay, promising to get her a new shirt at the museum gift shop, etc. , etc. , Mrs. Dodds turned on us. There was a triumphant fire in her eyes, as if we'd done something she'd been waiting for all semester. "Now, honey-"

"I know, " I grumbled. "A month erasing workbooks. "

That wasn't the right thing to say.

"Come with me, both of you," Mrs. Dodds said.

"But I didn't do any thing!" I exclaimed.

"Wait!" Grover yelped. "It was me. I pushed her."

I stared at him, stunned. I couldn't believe he was trying to cover for Percy. Mrs. Dodds scared Grover to death.

She glared at him so hard his whiskery chin trembled.

"I don't think so, Mr. Underwood, " she said.

"But-"

"You-will-stay-here. "

Grover looked at us desperately.

"It's okay, man, " Percy told him. "Thanks for trying. "

"Honey, " Mrs. Dodds barked at us. "Now. "

Nancy Bobofit smirked.

I gave her my deluxe I'll-kill-you-later stare. Then I turned to face Mrs. Dodds, but she wasn't there. She was standing at the museum entrance, way at the top of the steps, gesturing impatiently at me to come on.

How'd she get there so fast?

I have moments like that a lot, when my brain falls asleep or something, and the next thing I know I've missed something, as if a puzzle piece fell out of the universe and left me staring at the blank place behind it. The school counselor told me this was part of the ADHD, my brain misinterpreting things.

I wasn't so sure on the other hand.

We went after Mrs. Dodds.

Halfway up the steps, I glanced back at Grover. He was looking pale, cutting his eyes between Percy and I and Mr. Brunner, like he wanted Mr. Brunner to notice what was going on, but Mr. Brunner was absorbed in his novel.

I looked back up. Mrs. Dodds had disappeared again. She was now inside the building, at the end of the entrance hall. God she moved fast.

Okay, I thought. She's going to make me buy a new shirt for Nancy at the gift shop.

But apparently that wasn't the plan.


	3. Mrs Dodds Becomes a Shriveled Hag

**Chapter 3 - Mrs. Dodds Becomes A Bat-Human Hybrid Type Thing**

* * *

We followed her deeper into the museum. When we finally caught up to her, we were back in the Greek and Roman section. I clutched Percy's hand, terrified.

Except for us, the gallery was empty.

Gulp.

Mrs. Dodds stood with her arms crossed in front of a big marble frieze of the Greek gods. She was making this weird noise in her throat, like growling.

Even without the noise, I would've been nervous. It's weird being alone with a teacher, especially Mrs. Dodds. Something about the way she looked at the frieze, as if she wanted to pulverize it...

"You two've been giving us problems," she said.

I did the safe thing. I said, "Yes, ma'am. "

She tugged on the cuffs of her leather jacket. "Did you really think you would get away with it?"

The look in her eyes was beyond mad. It was evil.

She's a teacher, I thought nervously. It's not like she's going to hurt us.

I said, "we'll-we'll try harder, ma'am. "

Thunder shook the building.

"We are not fools, Melissa and Percy Jackson, " Mrs. Dodds said. "It was only a matter of time before we found you out. Confess, and you will suffer less pain."

I didn't know what she was talking about.

All I could think of was that the teachers must've found the illegal stash of candy Percy had been selling out of the dorm room. Or maybe they'd realized I got my essay on Tom Sawyer from the Internet without ever reading the book and now they were going to take away my grade. Or worse, they were going to make me read the book.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Ma'am, I don't... "

"Your time is up, " she hissed.

Then the weirdest thing happened. Her eyes began to glow like barbecue coals. Her fingers stretched, turning into talons. Her jacket melted into large, leathery wings. So that's why Grover had been so serious when we'd said that why thought that she wasn't human. She was a shriveled hag with bat wings and claws and a mouth full of yellow fangs, and she was about to slice us to ribbons.

Then things got even stranger.

Mr. Brunner, who'd been out in front of the museum a minute before, wheeled his chair into the doorway of the gallery, holding a pen in his hand.

"What ho, Percy!" he shouted, and tossed the pen through the air.

Like a pen would help us now, I'd thought, I hadn't realize how much it actually would help.

Mrs. Dodds lunged at me.

With a yelp, I dodged and felt talons slash the air next to my ear. I saw Percy snatch the ballpoint pen out of the air, but when it hit his hand, it wasn't a pen anymore. It was a sword - Mr. Brunner's bronze sword, which he always used on tournament day.

I backed up into the wall.

Mrs. Dodds spun toward Percy with a murderous look in her eyes.

My knees were jelly. My hands were shaking, terrified Percy drop the sword.

She snarled, "Die, honey!"

And she flew straight at him.

He swung the sword.

The metal blade hit her shoulder and passed clean through her body as if she were made of water. Hisss!

Mrs. Dodds was a sand castle in a power fan. She exploded into yellow powder, vaporized on the spot, leaving nothing but the smell of sulfur and a dying screech and a chill of evil in the air, as if those two glowing red eyes were still watching me.

We were alone.

There was a ballpoint pen in Percy's hand.

Mr. Brunner wasn't there. Nobody was there but us.

My hands were still trembling.

I ran and wrapped Percy in a hug, glad he was okay.

My lunch must've been contaminated with magic mushrooms or some-thing.

Had I imagined the whole thing?

We went back outside.

It had started to rain.

Grover was sitting by the fountain, a museum map tented over his head. Nancy Bobofit was still standing there, soaked from her swim in the fountain, grumbling to her ugly friends. When she saw us, she said, "I hope Mrs. Kerr whipped your butt. "

Percy said, "Who?"

"Our teacher. Duh!"

I blinked. We had no teacher named Mrs. Kerr. Percy asked Nancy what she was talking about.

She just rolled her eyes and turned away.

I asked Grover where Mrs. Dodds was.

He said, "Who?"

What the _heck_ was going on?

But he paused first, and he wouldn't look at us, so I thought he was messing with us.

"Not funny, Grover, " I told him. "This is serious. "

Thunder boomed overhead.

I saw Mr. Brunner sitting under his red umbrella, reading his book, as if he'd never moved.

We went over to him.

He looked up, a little distracted. "Ah, that would be my pen. Please bring your own writing utensil in the future, Mr. Jackson. "

Percy handed Mr. Brunner his pen. I hadn't even realized he was still holding it.

"Sir, " I said, "where's Mrs. Dodds?"

He stared at us blankly. "Who?"

"The other chaperone. Mrs. Dodds. The pre-algebra teacher." Percy finished for me.

He frowned and sat forward, looking mildly concerned. "Percy, Melissa, there is no Mrs. Dodds on this trip. As far as I know, there has never been a Mrs. Dodds at Yancy Academy. Are you two feeling all right?"

Okay, I have to admit, it was getting kinda freaky, and it was about to get a lot more freaky.


	4. Three Old Ladies Knit Socks of Doom

By know, I was used to the occasional weird experience, but usually they were over quickly. This twenty-four/seven hallucination was more than I could handle. For the rest of the school year, the entire campus seemed to be playing some kind of trick on Percy and I. The students acted as if they were completely and totally convinced that Mrs. Kerr - a perky blond woman whom I'd never seen in my life until she got on our bus at the end of the field trip - had been our pre-algebra teacher since Christmas.

Which she hadn't.

Every so often I would spring a Mrs. Dodds reference on somebody, just to see if I could trip them up, but they would stare at me like I was psycho.

It got so I almost believed them - Mrs. Dodds had never existed.

Almost.

But Grover couldn't fool Percy and I. When one of us mentioned the name Dodds to him, he would hesitate, _then_ claim she didn't exist. But I knew he was lying.

Something was going on. Something had happened at the museum.

I didn't have much time to think about it during the days, but at night, visions of Mrs. Dodds with talons and leathery wings would wake me up in a cold sweat.

The freak weather continued, which didn't help my mood. One night, a thunderstorm blew out the windows in my dorm room. A few days later, the biggest tornado ever spotted in the Hudson Valley touched down only fifty miles from Yancy Academy. One of the current events we studied in social studies class was the unusual number of small planes that had gone down in sudden squalls in the Atlantic that year.

Percy and I had started feeling cranky and irritable most of the time. Grades slipped from Ds to Fs, Percy got into more fights with Nancy Bobofit and her friends. We was sent out into the hallway in almost every class.

Finally, when our English teacher, Mr. Nicoll, asked Percy for the millionth time why he was too lazy to study for spelling tests, he snapped. He called him an old sot. I wasn't even sure what it meant, but it sounded good.

The headmaster sent my mom a letter the following week, making it official: He would not be invited back next year to Yancy Academy. Me with him.

Fine, I told myself. Just fine.

I was homesick.

I wanted to be with my mom in our little apartment on the Upper East Side, even if we had to go to public school and put up with our obnoxious stepfather and his stupid poker parties.

And yet... There were things I'd miss at Yancy. The view of the woods out my dorm window, the Hudson River in the distance, the smell of pine trees. I'd miss Grover, who'd been a good friend, even if he was a little strange. I worried how he'd survive next year without Percy and I protecting him.

I'd miss Latin class, too-Mr. Brunner's crazy tournament days and his faith that we could do well.

As exam week got closer, Latin was the only test I studied for. I hadn't forgotten what Mr. Brunner had told me about this subject being life-and-death for me. I wasn't sure why, but I'd started to believe him.

The evening before my final, I got so frustrated I threw the Cambridge Guide to Greek Mythology across my dorm room. Words had started swimming off the page, circling my head, the letters doing one- eighties as if they were riding skateboards. There was no way I was going to remember the difference between Chiron and Charon, or Polydictes and Polydeuces. And conjugating those Latin verbs? Forget it.

I paced the room, feeling like ants were crawling around inside my shirt.

I remembered Mr. Brunner's serious expression, his thousand-year-old eyes. _I will accept only the best from you, Melissa Jackson. _

I took a deep breath and picked up the mythology book.

I'd never asked a teacher for help before. Maybe if I talked to Mr. Brunner, he could give me some pointers. At least I could apologize for the big fat F I was about to score on his exam. I didn't want to leave Yancy Academy with him thinking I hadn't tried.

I walked downstairs to the faculty offices. Most of them were dark and empty, but Mr. Brunner's door was ajar, light from his window stretching across the hallway floor.

I was three steps from the door handle when I heard voices inside the office. Mr. Brunner asked a question. A voice that was definitely Grover's said "... Worried about Percy and Melissa, sir. "

I froze.

I'm not usually an eavesdropper, but I dare you to try not listening if you hear your best friend talking about you to an adult.

I inched closer.

"... Alone this summer, " Grover was saying. "I mean, a Kindly One in the school! Now that we know for sure, and they know too-"

"We would only make matters worse by rushing them, " Mr. Brunner said. "We need them to mature more. "

"But they may not have time. The summer solstice deadline- "

"Will have to be resolved without them, Grover. Let them enjoy his ignorance while they still can. "

"Sir, they saw her..."

"Imagination," Mr. Brunner insisted. "The Mist over the students and staff will be enough to convince them of that. "

"Sir, I ... I can't fail in my duties again. " Grover's voice was choked with emotion. "You know what that would mean. "

"You haven't failed, Grover, " Mr. Brunner said kindly. "I should have seen her for what she was. Now let's just worry about keeping Percy and Melissa alive until next fall-"

The mythology book dropped out of my hand and hit the floor with a loud echoing thud.

Mr. Brunner went silent.

Heart hammering, I picked up the book and backed down the hall.

A shadow slid across the lighted glass of Brunner's office door, the shadow of something much taller than my wheelchair-bound teacher, holding something that looked suspiciously like an archer's bow.

I opened the nearest door and slipped inside.

A few seconds later I heard a slow clop-clop-clop, like muffled wood blocks, then a sound like an animal snuffling right outside my door. A large, dark shape paused in front of the glass, then moved on.

A bead of sweat trickled down my neck.

Somewhere in the hallway, Mr. Brunner spoke. "Nothing, " he murmured. "My nerves haven't been right since the winter solstice. "

"Mine neither, " Grover said. "But I could have sworn ... "

"Go back to the dorm, " Mr. Brunner told him. "You've got a long day of exams tomorrow. "

"Don't remind me. "

The lights went out in Mr. Brunner's office.

I waited in the dark for what seemed like forever.

Finally, I slipped out into the hallway and made my way back up to the dorm.

Grover was lying on his bed, studying his Latin exam notes like he'd been there all night. Percy was sitting cross-legged on his bed.

I know it's weird, Percy, Grover and I share a room but I wouldn't let them put me in a dorm without my brother so to save time they agreed.

"Hey," Grover said, bleary-eyed. "You going to be ready for this test?"

I didn't answer.

"You look awful." He frowned. "Is everything okay?"

"Just... Tired." Percy looked at me and I knew that he could tell that he knew it was more than that.

I turned so he couldn't read my expression, and started getting ready for bed.

I waited till I was sure Grover was asleep and turned to Percy.

"Percy?"

"Yeah Melissa?"

"I heard something weird downstairs," then I went on to explain everything.

"I don't understand what you heard downstairs," Percy said after I finished explaining my story.

"I want to believe I'd imagined the whole thing. But I know I didn't..." I said sadly.

"Maybe sleep will help? I mean what else can we do? They'll be coming around to check we're all asleep soon," and with that he turned over and fell asleep.

I laid awake, thinking. Going over what had happened.

One thing was clear: Grover and Mr. Brunner were talking about Percy and I behind our backs. They thought we were in some kind of danger.

* * *

The next afternoon, as I was leaving the three-hour Latin exam, my eyes swimming with all the Greek and Roman names I'd misspelled, Mr. Brunner called Percy and I back inside.

For a moment, I was worried he'd found out about my eavesdropping the night before, but that didn't seem to be the problem.

"Melissa, Percy," he said. "Don't be discouraged about leaving Yancy. It's ... It's for the best. "

His tone was kind, but the words still embarrassed me.

Even though he was speaking quietly the other kids finishing the test could hear. Nancy Bobofit smirked at me and made sarcastic little kissing motions with her lips.

I heard Percy mumble, "Okay, sir. "

"I mean ... " Mr. Brunner wheeled his chair back and forth, like he wasn't sure what to say. "This isn't the right place for you. It was only a matter of time. "

My eyes stung.

Here was my favorite teacher, in front of the class, telling me I couldn't handle it. After saying he believed in me all year, now he was telling me I was destined to get kicked out.

"Right, " I said, trembling.

"No, no, " Mr. Brunner said. "Oh, confound it all. What I'm trying to say ... You're not normal, Percy. That's nothing to be-"

"Thanks, " I blurted. "Thanks a lot, sir, for reminding us."

"Melissa-"

But we were already gone.

On the last day of the term, I shoved my clothes into my suitcase.

Everyone was joking around, talking about their vacation plans. One of them was going on a hiking trip to Switzerland. Another was cruising the Caribbean for a month. They were juvenile delinquents, like me, but they were _rich_ juvenile delinquents. Their daddies were executives, or ambassadors, or celebrities. I was a nobody, from a family of nobodies.

They asked me what I'd be doing this summer and I told them Percy and I were going back to the city.

What I didn't tell them was that I'd have to get a summer job with Percy walking dogs or selling magazine subscriptions, and spend my free time worrying about where I'd go to school in the fall.

"Oh, " one of them said. "That's cool. "

They went back to their conversation as if I'd never existed.

The only person I dreaded saying good-bye to was Grover, but as it turned out, I didn't have to. He'd booked a ticket to Manhattan on the same Greyhound as I had, so there we were, together again, heading into the city.

During the whole bus ride, Grover kept glancing nervously down the aisle, watching the other passengers. It occurred to me that he'd always acted nervous and fidgety when we left Yancy, as if he expected something bad to happen. Before, I'd always assumed he was worried about getting teased. But there was nobody to tease him on the Greyhound.

Finally I couldn't stand it anymore.

I said, "Looking for Kindly Ones?"

Grover nearly jumped out of his seat. "Wha-what do you mean?"

I confessed about eavesdropping on him and Mr. Brunner the night before the exam and telling Percy all about it.

Grover's eye twitched. "How much did you hear?"

"Oh ... Not much. What's the summer solstice dead-line?"

He winced. "Look, Percy, Melissa ... I was just worried for you two, see? I mean, hallucinating about demon math teachers ... "

"Grover-"

"And I was telling Mr. Brunner that maybe you were over-stressed or something, because there was no such person as Mrs. Dodds, and ... "

"Grover, you're a really, really bad liar." I told him smiling.

His ears turned pink.

From his shirt pocket, he fished out a grubby business card. "Just take this, okay? In case you need me this summer."

The card was in fancy script, which was murder on my dyslexic eyes, but I finally made out something like:

_Grover Underwood_

_ Keeper_

_ Half-Blood Hill_

_ Long Island, New York_

_ (800) 009-0009_

"What's Half-"

"Don't say it aloud!" he yelped. "That's my, um ... Summer address. "

My heart sank. Grover had a summer home. I'd never considered that his family might be as rich as the others at Yancy.

"Okay, " Percy said glumly. "So, like, if I want to come visit your mansion. "

He nodded. "Or ... Or if you need me. "

"Why would we need you?"

It came out harsher than I meant it to.

Grover blushed right down to his Adam's apple. "Look, Percy, Melissa, the truth is, I-I kind of have to protect you."

I stared at him.

All year long, I'd gotten in fights, keeping bullies away from him. I'd lost sleep worrying that he'd get beaten up next year without me. And here he was acting like he was the one who defended me.

"Grover," I said, "what exactly are you protecting us from?"

There was a huge grinding noise under our feet. Black smoke poured from the dashboard and the whole bus filled with a smell like rotten eggs. The driver cursed and limped the Greyhound over to the side of the highway.

After a few minutes clanking around in the engine compartment, the driver announced that we'd all have to get off. Grover, Percy and I filed outside with everybody else.

We were on a stretch of country road - no place you'd notice if you didn't break down there. On our side of the highway was nothing but maple trees and litter from passing cars. On the other side, across four lanes of asphalt shimmering with afternoon heat, was an old-fashioned fruit stand.

The stuff on sale looked really good: heaping boxes of blood red cherries and apples, walnuts and apricots, jugs of cider in a claw-foot tub full of ice. There were no customers, just three old ladies sitting in rocking chairs in the shade of a maple tree, knitting the biggest pair of socks I'd ever seen.

I mean these socks were the size of sweaters, but they were clearly socks. The lady on the right knitted one of them. The lady on the left knitted the other. The lady in the middle held an enormous basket of electric-blue yarn.

All three women looked ancient, with pale faces wrinkled like fruit leather, silver hair tied back in white bandannas, bony arms sticking out of bleached cotton dresses.

The weirdest thing was, they seemed to be looking right at me.

I looked over at Grover to say something about this and saw that the blood had drained from his face. His nose was twitching.

"Grover?" Percy said. "Hey, man-"

"Tell me they're not looking at you two. They are, aren't they?"

"Yeah. Weird, huh? You think those socks would fit me?" Percy joked.

"Not funny, Percy. Not funny at all. "

"Come on, it was kind of funny,"

"Oh, kind of funny?"

"Yeah kind o-"

"Guys!" Grover exclaimed making us turn away from each other and to him.

"What?" We said together as the old lady in the middle took out a huge pair of scissors-gold and silver, long-bladed, like shears. I heard Grover catch his breath.

"We're getting on the bus, " he told me. "Come on. "

"What?" I said. "It's a thousand degrees in there. "

"Come on!'" He pried open the door and climbed inside, but I stayed back.

Across the road, the old ladies were still watching me. The middle one cut the yarn, and I swear I could hear that snip across four lanes of traffic. Her two friends balled up the electric-blue socks, leaving me wondering who they could possibly be for-Sasquatch or Godzilla.

At the rear of the bus, the driver wrenched a big chunk of smoking metal out of the engine compartment. The bus shuddered, and the engine roared back to life.

The passengers cheered.

"Darn right!" yelled the driver. He slapped the bus with his hat. "Everybody back on board!"

Once we got going, I started feeling feverish, as if I'd caught the flu.

Grover didn't look much better. He was shivering and his teeth were chattering.

"Grover?" I asked worriedly.

"Yeah?"

"What are you not telling me?"

He dabbed his forehead with his shirt sleeve. "Percy, what did you see back at the fruit stand?"

"You mean the old ladies? What is it about them, man? They're not like ... Mrs. Dodds, are they?"

His expression was hard to read, but I got the feeling that the fruit-stand ladies were something much, much worse than Mrs. Dodds. He said, "Just tell me what you saw. "

"The middle one took out her scissors, and she cut the yarn. "

He closed his eyes and made a gesture with his fingers that might've been crossing himself, but it wasn't. It was something else, something almost-older.

He said, "You saw her snip the cord. "

"Cord? What cord? It was yarn," I said.

"Yeah. So?" But even as Percy said it, I knew it was a big deal.

"This is not happening, " Grover mumbled. He started chewing at his thumb. "I don't want this to be like the last time. "

"What last time?"

"Always sixth grade. They never get past sixth. "

"Grover, " I said, because he was really starting to scare me. "What are you talking about?"

"Let me walk you two home from the bus station. Promise me. "

This seemed like a strange request to me, but I promised he could.

"Is this like a superstition or something?" I asked.

No answer.

"Grover-that snipping of the yarn. Does that mean somebody is going to die?"

He looked at me mournfully, like he was already picking the kind of flowers I'd like best on my coffin.


	5. How to Bullfight by Sally Jackson

**Chapter 5 - How To Bull Fight By Sally Jackson**

* * *

We tore through the night along dark country roads. Wind slammed against the Camaro. Rain lashed the wind-shield. I didn't know how my mom could see anything, but she kept her foot on the gas.

Every time there was a flash of lightning, I looked at Grover sitting next to me in the backseat and I won-dered if I'd gone insane, or if he was wearing some kind of shag-carpet pants. But, no, the smell was one I remem-bered from kindergarten field trips to the petting zoo - lanolin, like from wool. The smell of a wet barnyard animal.

All I could think to say was, "So, you and my mom... Know each other?"

Graver's eyes flitted to the rearview mirror, though there were no cars behind us. "Not exactly, " he said. "I mean, we've never met in person. But she knew I was watching you. "

"Watching _us_?"

"Keeping tabs on you. Making sure you were okay. But I wasn't faking being your friend," he added hastily. "I am your friend. "

"Um ... What are you, exactly?"

"That doesn't matter right now. "

"It doesn't matter? From the waist down, our best friend is a donkey-"

Grover let out a sharp, throaty "Blaa-ha-ha!"

We'd heard him make that sound before, but always assumed it was a nervous laugh. Now I realized it was more of an irritated bleat.

"Goat!" he cried.

"What?"

"I'm a goat from the waist down. "

"You just said it didn't matter."

"Blaa-ha-ha! There are satyrs who would trample you underhoof for such an insult!"

"Whoa. Wait. Satyrs. You mean like ... Mr. Brunner's myths?"

"Were those old ladies at the fruit stand a myth, Percy? Was Mrs. Dodds a myth?"

"So you admit there was a Mrs. Dodds!"

"Of course. "

"Then why-"

"The less you knew, the fewer monsters you'd attract, " Grover said, like that should've been perfectly obvious. "We put Mist over the humans' eyes. We hoped you'd think the Kindly One was a hallucination. But it was no good. You started to realize who you are. "

"Who I - wait a minute, what do you mean?"

The weird bellowing noise rose up again somewhere behind us, closer than before. Whatever was chasing us was still on our trail.

"Percy, " my mom said, "there's too much to explain and not enough time. We have to get you to safety. "

"Safety from what? Who's after me?"

"Oh, nobody much, " Grover said, obviously still miffed about the donkey comment. "Just the Lord of the Dead and a few of his blood-thirstiest minions. "

"Grover!"

"Sorry, Mrs. Jackson. Could you drive faster, please?"

I tried to wrap my mind around what was happening, but I couldn't do it. I knew this wasn't a dream. I had no imagination. I could never dream up something this weird.

My mom made a hard left. We swerved onto a narrower road, racing past darkened farmhouses and wooded hills and **_PICK YOUR OWN STRAWBERRIES_** signs on white picket fences.

"Where are we going?" I asked.

"The summer camp I told you about. " My mother's voice was tight; she was trying for my sake not to be scared. "The place your father wanted to send you. "

"The place you didn't want me to go. "

"Please, dear, " my mother begged. "This is hard enough. Try to understand. You're in danger. "

"Because some old ladies cut yarn. "

"Those weren't old ladies, " Grover said. "Those were the Fates. Do you know what it means - the fact they appeared in front of you? They only do that when you're about to ... When someone's about to die. "

"Whoa. You said 'you.' "

"No I didn't. I said 'someone. '"

"You meant 'you. ' As in us."

"I meant you, like 'someone.' Not you, you."

"Percy, Grover, Melissa!" my mom said.

She pulled the wheel hard to the right, and I got a glimpse of a figure she'd swerved to avoid-a dark fluttering shape now lost behind us in the storm.

"What was that?" I asked.

"We're almost there," my mother said, ignoring my question. "Another mile. Please. Please. Please. "

I didn't know where there was, but I found myself leaning forward in the car, anticipating, wanting us to arrive.

Outside, nothing but rain and darkness - the kind of empty countryside you get way out on the tip of Long Island. I thought about Mrs. Dodds and the moment when she'd changed into the thing with pointed teeth and leathery wings. My limbs went numb from delayed shock. She really hadn't been human. She'd meant to kill us.

Then I thought about Mr. Brunner ... And the sword he had thrown me. Before I could ask Grover about that, the hair rose on the back of my neck. There was a blinding flash, a jaw-rattling **boom!**, and our car exploded.

I remember feeling weightless, like I was being crushed, fried, and hosed down all at the same time.

I peeled my forehead off the back of the driver's seat and said, "Ow. "

"Melissa!" my mom shouted.

"I'm okay..."

I tried to shake off the daze. I wasn't dead. The car hadn't really exploded. We'd swerved into a ditch. Our driver's-side doors were wedged in the mud. The roof had cracked open like an eggshell and rain was pouring in.

Lightning. That was the only explanation. We'd been blasted right off the road. Next to me in the backseat was a big motionless lump. "Grover!"

He was slumped over, blood trickling from the side of his mouth. I shook his furry hip, thinking, _No! Even if you are half barnyard animal, you're my best friend and I don't want you to die!_

Then he groaned "Food," and I knew there was hope.

"Percy, Melissa," my mother said, "we have to ... " Her voice faltered.

I looked back. In a flash of lightning, through the mud-spattered rear windshield, I saw a figure lumbering toward us on the shoulder of the road. The sight of it made my skin crawl. It was a dark silhouette of a huge guy, like a football player. He seemed to be holding a blanket over his head. His top half was bulky and fuzzy. His upraised hands made it look like he had horns.

I swallowed hard. "Who is-"

"Percy, Melissa," my mother said, deadly serious. "Get out of the car. "

My mother threw herself against the driver's-side door. It was jammed shut in the mud. I tried mine. Stuck too. I looked up desperately at the hole in the roof. It might've been an exit, but the edges were sizzling and smoking.

"Climb out the passenger's side!" my mother told me. "Percy, Melissa - you have to run. Do you see that big tree?"

"What?"

Another flash of lightning, and through the smoking hole in the roof I saw the tree she meant: a huge, White House Christmas tree-sized pine at the crest of the nearest hill.

"That's the property line," my mom said. "Get over that hill and you'll see a big farmhouse down in the valley. Run and don't look back. Yell for help. Don't stop until you reach the door. "

"Mom, you're coming too. "

Her face was pale, her eyes as sad as when she looked at the ocean.

"No!" Percy shouted. "You are coming with me. Help me carry Grover. "

"Food!" Grover moaned, a little louder.

The man with the blanket on his head kept coming toward us, making his grunting, snorting noises. As he got closer, I realized he couldn't be holding a blanket over his head, because his hands-huge meaty hands-were swinging at his sides. There was no blanket. Meaning the bulky, fuzzy mass that was too big to be his head ... Was his head. And the points that looked like horns ...

"He doesn't want us, " my mother told me. "He wants you. Besides, I can't cross the property line. "

"But... "

"We don't have time, Percy. Go. Please. "

I got mad, then - mad at my mother, at Grover the goat, at the thing with horns that was lumbering toward us slowly and deliberately like, like a bull.

I climbed across Grover and pushed the door open into the rain. "We're going together. Come on, Mom. "

"I told you-"

"Mom! I am not leaving you. Help me with Grover. "

He didn't wait for her answer. I scrambled outside after him, Percy dragging Grover from the car. I followed closely behind, ready to jump in if Mom got to exhausted.

Together, they draped Grover's arms over their shoulders and started stumbling uphill through wet waist-high grass.

Glancing back, I got my first clear look at the monster. He was seven feet tall, easy, his arms and legs like something from the cover of Muscle Man magazine-bulging biceps and triceps and a bunch of other 'ceps, all stuffed like baseballs under vein-webbed skin. He wore no clothes except under-wear -I mean, bright white Fruit of the Looms - which would've looked funny, except that the top half of his body was so scary. Coarse brown hair started at about his belly button and got thicker as it reached his shoulders.

His neck was a mass of muscle and fur leading up to his enormous head, which had a snout as long as my arm, snotty nostrils with a gleaming brass ring, cruel black eyes, and horns-enormous black-and- white horns with points you just couldn't get from an electric sharpener.

I recognized the monster, all right. He had been in one of the first stories Mr. Brunner told us. But he couldn't be real.

I blinked the rain out of my eyes. "That's-"

"Pasiphae's son, " my mother said. "I wish I'd known how badly they want to kill you. "

"But he's the Min-"

"Don't say his name, " she warned. "Names have power. "

The pine tree was still way too far-a hundred yards uphill at least.

I glanced behind me again.

The bull-man hunched over our car, looking in the windows-or not looking, exactly. More like snuffling, nuzzling. I wasn't sure why he bothered, since we were only about fifty feet away.

"Food?" Grover moaned.

"Shhh" I told him. "Mom, what's he doing? Doesn't he see us?"

"His sight and hearing are terrible, " she said. "He goes by smell. But he'll figure out where we are soon enough. "

As if on cue, the bull-man bellowed in rage. He picked up Gabe's Camaro by the torn roof, the chassis creaking and groaning. He raised the car over his head and threw it down the road. It slammed into the wet asphalt and skidded in a shower of sparks for about half a mile before coming to a stop. The gas tank exploded.

Not a scratch, I remembered Gabe saying.

Oops.

"Percy, " my mom said. "When he sees us, he'll charge. Wait until the last second, then jump out of the way - directly sideways. He can't change directions very well once he's charging. Do you understand?"

"How do you know all this?"

"I've been worried about an attack for a long time. I should have expected this. I was selfish, keeping you both near me."

"Keeping us near you? But-"

Another bellow of rage, and the bull-man started tromping uphill.

He'd smelled us.

The pine tree was only a few more yards, but the hill was getting steeper and slicker, and Grover wasn't getting any lighter.

The bull-man closed in. Another few seconds and he'd be on top of us.

My mother must've been exhausted, but she shouldered Grover. "Go, Percy! Separate! Remember what I said. "

I didn't want to split up, but I had the feeling she was right-it was our only chance. I sprinted to the left, turned, and saw the creature bearing down on me. His black eyes glowed with hate. He reeked like rotten meat.

He lowered his head and charged, those razor-sharp horns aimed straight at our chests.

The fear in my stomach made me want to bolt, but that wouldn't work. I could never outrun this thing. So I held my ground, and at the last moment, I jumped to the side. Opposite Percy and fell back onto the grass hitting my head on a big rock.

My eyesight started getting blurry and I knew this was the end. I saw one more thing before I went under: the bull-man storming past like a freight train, then bellowing with frustration and turned, but not toward Percy or me this time, toward my mother, who was setting Grover down in the grass.

I let my eyelids flutter closed and let the blackness take over me.


	6. Pinochle With A Familiar Horse

Chapter 6 - Pinochle With A Familiar Horse

* * *

I had weird dreams full of barnyard animals. Most of them wanted to kill me. The rest wanted food.

I must've woken up several times, but what I heard and saw made no sense, so I just passed out again. I remember lying in a soft bed, being spoon-fed something that tasted like buttered popcorn, only it was pudding. A girl with curly blond hair hovered over me, smirking as she scraped drips off my chin with the spoon. She was pretty.

I could feel Percy next to me.

When she saw my eyes open, she asked, "What will happen at the summer solstice?"

I managed to croak, "What?"

She looked around, as if afraid someone would over-hear. "What's going on? What was stolen? We've only got a few weeks!"

"I'm sorry, " I mumbled, "I don't... "

Somebody knocked on the door, and the girl quickly filled my mouth with pudding.

The next time I woke up, the girl was gone.

A husky blond dude, like a surfer, stood in the corner of the bedroom keeping watch over me. He had blue eyes- at least a dozen of them-on his cheeks, his forehead, the backs of his hands.

* * *

When I finally came around for good, there was nothing weird about my surroundings, except that they were nicer than I was used to. I was sitting in a deck chair on a huge porch, gazing across a meadow at green hills in the distance. The breeze smelled like strawberries. There was a blanket over my legs, a pillow behind my neck. All that was great, but my mouth felt like a scorpion had been using it for a nest. My tongue was dry and nasty and every one of my teeth hurt.

I looked beside me and saw Percy was waking to and having the same reaction as me, he looked over at me and managed a small smile which I immediately returned.

On the table next to me were two tall drinks. It looked like iced apple juice, with a green straw and a paper parasol stuck through a maraschino cherry.

My hand was so weak I almost dropped the glass once I got my fingers around it.

"Careful," a familiar voice said.

Grover was leaning against the porch railing, looking like he hadn't slept in a week. Under one arm, he cradled a shoe box. He was wearing blue jeans, Converse hi-tops and a bright orange T-shirt that said CAMP HALF-BLOOD. Just plain old Grover, not the goat boy.

So maybe I'd had a nightmare. We were still on vacation, and we'd stopped here at this big house for some reason. And ...

"You saved my life," Grover said. "I ... Well, the least I could do ... I went back to the hill. I thought you might want this."

Reverently, he placed the shoe box in Percy's lap.

Inside was a black-and-white bull's horn, the base jagged from being broken off, the tip splattered with dried blood. It hadn't been a nightmare.

"The Minotaur, " I said.

"Um, Melissa, it isn't a good idea-"

"That's what they call him in the Greek myths, isn't it?" Percy demanded. "The Minotaur. Half man, half bull. "

Grover shifted uncomfortably. "You've been out for two days. How much do you remember?"

"My mom. Is she really ... "

He looked down.

"She's dead?" I asked my eyes welling with tears.

Again he kept his eyes down.

So she was then.

I stared across the meadow. There were groves of trees, a winding stream, acres of strawberries spread out under the blue sky. The valley was surrounded by rolling hills, and the tallest one, directly in front of us, was the one with the huge pine tree on top. Even that looked beautiful in the sunlight.

My mother was gone. The whole world should be black and cold. Nothing should look beautiful.

"I'm sorry, " Grover sniffled. "I'm a failure. I'm-I'm the worst satyr in the world. "

He moaned, stomping his foot so hard it came off. I mean, the Converse hi-top came off. The inside was filled with Styrofoam, except for a hoof-shaped hole.

"Oh, Styx!" he mumbled.

Thunder rolled across the clear sky.

As he struggled to get his hoof back in the fake foot, I thought, _Well, that settles it_.

Grover was a satyr. I was ready to bet that if I shaved his curly brown hair, I'd find tiny horns on his head. But I was too miserable to care that satyrs existed, or even minotaurs. All that meant was my mom really was gone.

Percy and I were alone. Orphans. We would have to live with ... Smelly Gabe? No. That would never happen. I would live on the streets first. I'd do something.

Grover was still sniffling. The poor kid-poor goat, satyr, whatever - looked as if he expected to be hit.

I said, "It wasn't your fault. "

"Yes, it was. I was supposed to protect you. "

"Did my mother ask you to protect me?"

"No. But that's my job. I'm a keeper. At least ... I was. "

"But why ... " I suddenly felt dizzy, my vision swimming.

"Don't strain yourself," Grover said. "Here." He helped me hold my glass and put the straw to my lips.

I recoiled at the taste, because I was expecting apple juice. It wasn't that at all. It was chocolate-chip cookies. Liquid cookies. And not just any cookies-my mom's homemade blue chocolate-chip cookies, buttery and hot, with the chips still melting. Drinking it, my whole body felt warm and good, full of energy. My grief didn't go away, but I felt as if my mom had just brushed her hand against my cheek, given me a cookie the way she used to when I was small, and told me everything was going to be okay.

Before I knew it, I'd drained the glass. I stared into it, sure I'd just had a warm drink, but the ice cubes hadn't even melted.

"Was it good?" Grover asked.

I nodded.

I looked at Percy and he seemed to have drained his as well and was as confused as I was.

"What did it taste like?" He sounded so wistful, I felt guilty.

"Sorry, " Percy said. "I should've let you taste. "

His eyes got wide. "No! That's not what I meant. I just ... Wondered. "

"Chocolate-chip cookies, " I said. "My mom's. Home-made. "

He sighed. "And how do you feel?"

"Like I could throw Nancy Bobofit a hundred yards." Percy answered before I could.

I nodded again. "Exactly!"

"That's good," he said. "That's good. I don't think you could risk drinking any more of that stuff"

"What do you mean?"

He took the empty glass from me gingerly, as if it were dynamite, and set it back on the table. "Come on. Chiron and Mr. D are waiting. "

The porch wrapped all the way around the farmhouse. I had wrapped the blanket over my shoulders and followed

My legs felt wobbly, trying to walk that far. Grover offered to carry the Minotaur horn, but Percy held on to it.

As we came around the opposite end of the house, I caught my breath.

We must've been on the north shore of Long Island, because on this side of the house, the valley marched all the way up to the water, which glittered about a mile in the distance. Between here and there, I simply couldn't process everything I was seeing. The landscape was dotted with buildings that looked like ancient Greek architecture - an open-air pavilion, an amphitheater, a circular arena-except that they all looked brand new, their white marble columns sparkling in the sun. In a nearby sandpit, a dozen high school-age kids and satyrs played volleyball. Canoes glided across a small lake. Kids in bright orange T-shirts like Grover's were chasing each other around a cluster of cabins nestled in the woods. Some shot targets at an archery range. Others rode horses down a wooded trail, and, unless I was hallucinating, some of their horses had wings.

Down at the end of the porch, two men sat across from each other at a card table. The blond-haired girl who'd spoon-fed me popcorn-flavored pudding was leaning on the porch rail next to them.

The man facing me was small, but porky. He had a red nose, big watery eyes, and curly hair so black it was almost purple. He looked like those paintings of baby angels- what do you call them, hubbubs? No, cherubs. That's it. He looked like a cherub who'd turned middle-aged in a trailer park. He wore a tiger-pattern Hawaiian shirt, and he would've fit right in at one of Gabe's poker parties, except I got the feeling this guy could've out-gambled even my step-father.

"That's Mr. D, " Grover murmured to me. "He's the camp director. Be polite. The girl, that's Annabeth Chase. She's just a camper, but she's been here longer than just about anybody. And you already know Chiron..."

He pointed at the guy whose back was to me.

First, I realized he was sitting in the wheelchair. Then I recognized the tweed jacket, the thinning brown hair, the scraggly beard.

"Mr. Brunner!" I cried at the same time as Percy.

The Latin teacher turned and smiled at me. His eyes had that mischievous glint they sometimes got in class when he pulled a pop quiz and made all the multiple choice answers B.

"Ah, good, Percy, Melissa" he said. "Now we have four for pinochle."

He offered us chairs to the right of Mr. D, who looked at us with bloodshot eyes and heaved a great sigh. "Oh, I suppose I must say it. Welcome to Camp Half-Blood. There. Now, don't expect me to be glad to see you."

"Uh, thanks." I scooted a little farther away from him because, if there was one thing I had learned from living with Gabe, it was how to tell when an adult has been hitting the happy juice. If Mr. D was a stranger to alcohol, I was a satyr.

"Annabeth?" Mr. Brunner called to the blond girl.

She came forward and Mr. Brunner introduced us. "This young lady nursed you both back to health. Annabeth, my dear, why don't you go check on Percy's bunk? We'll be putting him in cabin eleven for now. "

Annabeth said, "Sure, Chiron. "

She was probably my age, maybe a couple of inches taller, and a whole lot more athletic looking. With her deep tan and her curly blond hair, she was almost exactly what I thought a stereotypical California girl would look like, except her eyes ruined the image. They were startling gray, like storm clouds; pretty, but intimidating, too, as if she were analyzing the best way to take me down in a fight.

She glanced at the minotaur horn in Percy's hands, then back at me. I imagined she was going to say, You killed a minotaur! or Wow, you're so awesome! or something like that t him.

Instead she said, "You drool when you sleep. "

Then she sprinted off down the lawn, her blond hair flying behind her, leaving Percy with a slight blush and a smirk on my face.

"So," I said, anxious to change the subject. "You, uh, work here, Mr. Brunner?"

"Not Mr. Brunner," the ex-Mr. Brunner said. "I'm afraid that was a pseudonym. You may call me Chiron."

"Okay." Totally confused, I looked at the director. "And Mr. D ... Does that stand for something?"

Mr. D stopped shuffling the cards. He looked at me like I'd just belched loudly. "Young man, names are powerful things. You don't just go around using them for no reason."

"Oh. Right. Sorry."

"I must say, Percy, Melissa," Chiron-Brunner broke in, "I'm glad to see you alive. It's been a long time since I've made a house call to a potential camper. I'd hate to think I've wasted my time. "

"House call?"

"My year at Yancy Academy, to instruct you both. We have satyrs at most schools, of course, keeping a lookout. But Grover alerted me as soon as he met you. He sensed you were something special, so I decided to come upstate. I convinced the other Latin teacher to ... Ah, take a leave of absence. "

I tried to remember the beginning of the school year. It seemed like so long ago, but I did have a fuzzy memory of there being another Latin teacher my first week at Yancy. Then, without explanation, he had disappeared and Mr. Brunner had taken the class.

"You came to Yancy just to teach us?" I asked.

Chiron nodded. "Honestly, I wasn't sure about you at first. We contacted your mother, let her know we were keeping an eye on you in case you were ready for Camp Half-Blood. But you still had so much to learn. Nevertheless, you made it here alive, and that's always the first test."

"Grover," Mr. D said impatiently, "are you playing or not?"

"Yes, sir!" Grover trembled as he took the fifth chair, though I didn't know why he should be so afraid of a pudgy little man in a tiger-print Hawaiian shirt.

"You do know how to play pinochle?" Mr. D eyed Percy suspiciously as I leaned back in my chair and pulled my knees up to my chest wrapping my arms around them.

"I'm afraid not," he said.

"I'm afraid not, sir," he replied.

"Sir," Percy repeated. I was liking the camp director less and less.

"Well," he told him, "it is, along with gladiator fighting and Pac-Man, one of the greatest games ever invented by humans. I would expect all civilized young men to know the rules."

"I'm sure the boy can learn," Chiron said.

"Please," I said, "what is this place? What am I doing here? Mr. Brun- Chiron - why would you go to Yancy Academy just to teach us?"

Mr. D snorted. "I asked the same question."

The camp director dealt the cards. Grover flinched every time one landed in his pile.

Chiron smiled at me sympathetically, the way he used to in Latin class, as if to let me know that no matter what my average was, I was his star student. He expected me to have the right answer.

"Melissa," he said. "Did your mother tell you nothing?"

"She said ... " I remembered her sad eyes, looking out over the sea. "She told me she was afraid to send us here, even though our father had wanted her to. She said that once we were here, we probably couldn't leave. She wanted to keep us close to her."

"Typical," Mr. D said. "That's how they usually get killed. Young man, are you bidding or not?"

"What?" He asked.

He explained, impatiently, how you bid in pinochle, and so he did.

"I'm afraid there's too much to tell, " Chiron said. "I'm afraid our usual orientation film won't be sufficient. "

"Orientation film?" I asked.

"No," Chiron decided. "Well, Percy, Melissa. You know your friend Grover is a satyr. You know" - he pointed to the horn in the shoe box - "that you have killed the Minotaur. No small feat, either, lad. What you may not know is that great powers are at work in your life. Gods - the forces you call the Greek gods - are very much alive. "

I stared at the others around the table.

I waited for somebody to yell, _Not!_ But all I got was Mr. D yelling, "Oh, a royal marriage. Trick! Trick!" He cackled as he tallied up his points.

"Mr. D," Grover asked timidly, "if you're not going to eat it, could I have your Diet Coke can?"

"Eh? Oh, all right. "

Grover bit a huge shard out of the empty aluminum can and chewed it mournfully.

"Wait, " I told Chiron. "You're telling me there's such a thing as God. "

"Well, now, " Chiron said. "God-capital G, God. That's a different matter altogether. We shan't deal with the metaphysical. "

"Metaphysical? But you were just talking about-"

"Ah, gods, plural, as in, great beings that control the forces of nature and human endeavors: the immortal gods of Olympus. That's a smaller matter. "

"Smaller?"

"Yes, quite. The gods we discussed in Latin class. "

"Zeus, " I said. "Hera. Apollo. You mean them. "

And there it was again-distant thunder on a cloud-less day.

"Young man, " said Mr. D, "I would really be less casual about throwing those names around, if I were you. "

"But they're stories, " Percy said before I could. "They're - myths, to explain lightning and the seasons and stuff. They're what people believed before there was science. "

"Science!" Mr. D scoffed. "And tell me, Perseus Jackson" - He flinched when he said his real name, which he never told anybody - "what will people think of your 'science' two thousand years from now?" Mr. D continued. "Hmm? They will call it primitive mumbo jumbo. That's what. Oh, I love mortals - they have absolutely no sense of perspective. They think they've come so-o-o far. And have they, Chiron? Look at this boy and girl and tell me. "

I wasn't liking Mr. D much, but there was something about the way he called me mortal, as if... He wasn't. It was enough to put a lump in my throat, to suggest why Grover was dutifully minding his cards, chewing his soda can, and keeping his mouth shut.

"Percy," Chiron said, "you may choose to believe or not, but the fact is that immortal means immortal. Can you imagine that for a moment, never dying? Never fading? Existing, just as you are, for all time?"

I was about to answer, off the top of my head, that it sounded like a pretty good deal, but the tone of Chiron's voice made me hesitate.

"You mean, whether people believed in you or not, " I said.

"Exactly," Chiron agreed. "If you were a god, how would you like being called a myth, an old story to explain lightning? What if I told you, Perseus Jackson, that some-day people would call you a myth, just created to explain how little boys can get over losing their mothers?"

My heart pounded. He was trying to make me angry for some reason, but I wasn't going to let him. I said, "I wouldn't like it. But I don't believe in gods. "

"Oh, you'd better, " Mr. D murmured. "Before one of them incinerates you. "

Grover said, "P-please, sir. He's just lost his mother. He's in shock. "

"A lucky thing too," Mr. D grumbled playing a card. "Bad enough I'm confined to this miserable job, working with boys who don't even believe. ' "

He waved his hand and a goblet appeared on the table, as if the sunlight had bent, momentarily, and woven the air into glass. The goblet filled itself with red wine.

My jaw dropped along with Percy's, but Chiron hardly looked up.

"Mr. D, " he warned, "your restrictions."

Mr. D looked at the wine and feigned surprise.

"Dear me." He looked at the sky and yelled, "Old habits! Sorry!"

More thunder.

Mr. D waved his hand again, and the wineglass changed into a fresh can of Diet Coke. He sighed unhappily, popped the top of the soda, and went back to his card game.

Chiron winked at me. "Mr. D offended his father a while back, took a fancy to a wood nymph who had been declared off-limits."

"A wood nymph," I repeated, still staring at the Diet Coke can like it was from outer space.

"Yes" Mr. D confessed. "Father loves to punish me. The first time, Prohibition. Ghastly! Absolutely horrid ten years! The second time - well, she really was pretty, and I couldn't stay away - the second time, he sent me here. Half-Blood Hill. Summer camp for brats like you. 'Be a better influence, ' he told me. 'Work with youths rather than tearing them down. ' Ha. ' Absolutely unfair. "

Mr. D sounded about six years old, like a pouting little kid.

"And ... " I stammered, "your father is ... "

"Di immortales, Chiron" Mr. D said. "I thought you taught this boy the basics. My father is Zeus, of course. "

I ran through D names from Greek mythology. Wine. The skin of a tiger. The satyrs that all seemed to work here. The way Grover cringed, as if Mr. D were his master.

"You're Dionysus, " I said. "The god of wine. "

Mr. D rolled his eyes. "What do they say, these days, Grover? Do the children say, 'Well, duh!'?"

"Y-yes, Mr. D. "

"Then, well, duh! Melissa Jackson. Did you think I was Aphrodite, perhaps?"

"You're a god. "

"Yes, child. "

"A god. You. "

He turned to look at me straight on, and I saw a kind of purplish fire in his eyes, a hint that this whiny, plump little man was only showing me the tiniest bit of his true nature. I saw visions of grape vines choking unbelievers to death, drunken warriors insane with battle lust, sailors screaming as their hands turned to flippers, their faces elongating into dolphin snouts. I knew that if I pushed him, Mr. D would show me worse things. He would plant a disease in my brain that would leave me wearing a strait-jacket in a rubber room for the rest of my life.

"Would you like to test me, child?" he said quietly.

"No. No, sir. "

The fire died a little. He turned back to his card game. "I believe I win. "

"Not quite, Mr. D, " Chiron said. He set down a straight, tallied the points, and said, "The game goes to me. "

I thought Mr. D was going to vaporize Chiron right out of his wheelchair, but he just sighed through his nose, as if he were used to being beaten by the Latin teacher. He got up, and Grover rose, too.

"I'm tired, " Mr. D said. "I believe I'll take a nap before the sing-along tonight. But first, Grover, we need to talk, again, about your less-than-perfect performance on this assignment. "

Grover's face beaded with sweat. "Y-yes, sir. "

Mr. D turned to me. "Cabin eleven, Percy and Melissa Jackson. And mind your manners."

He swept into the farmhouse, Grover following miser-ably.

"Will Grover be okay?" I asked Chiron.

Chiron nodded, though he looked a bit troubled. "Old Dionysus isn't really mad. He just hates his job. He's been ... Ah, grounded, I guess you would say, and he can't stand waiting another century before he's allowed to go back to Olympus. "

"Mount Olympus," I said. "You're telling me there really is a palace there?"

"Well now, there's Mount Olympus in Greece. Then there's the home of the gods, the convergence point of their powers, which did indeed used to be on Mount Olympus. It's still called Mount Olympus out of respect to the old ways but the palace moves, Percy, just as the gods do."

"You mean the Greek gods are here? Like ... In America?"

"Well, certainly. The gods move with the heart of the West. "

"The what?"

"Come now, you two. What you call 'Western civilization.' Do you think it's just an abstract concept? No, it's a living force. A collective consciousness that has burned bright for thousands of years. The gods are part of it. You might even say they are the source of it, or at least, they are tied so tightly to it that they couldn't possibly fade, not unless all of Western civilization were obliterated. The fire started in Greece. Then, as you well know - or as I hope you know, since you passed my course - the heart of the fire moved to Rome, and so did the gods. Oh, different names, perhaps - Jupiter for Zeus, Venus for Aphrodite, and so on - but the same forces, the same gods. "

"And then they died. "

"Died? No. Did the West die? The gods simply moved, to Germany, to France, to Spain, for a while. Wherever the flame was brightest, the gods were there. They spent several centuries in England. All you need to do is look at the architecture. People do not forget the gods. Every place they've ruled, for the last three thousand years, you can see them in paintings, in statues, on the most important buildings. And yes, of course they are now in your United States. Look at your symbol, the eagle of Zeus. Look at the statue of Prometheus in Rockefeller Center, the Greek facades of your government buildings in Washington. I defy you to find any American city where the Olympians are not prominently displayed in multiple places. Like it or not - and believe me, plenty of people weren't very fond of Rome, either - America is now the heart of the flame. It is the great power of the West. And so Olympus is here. And we are here."

It was all too much, especially the fact that I seemed to be included in Chiron's we, as if we were now a part of some club.

"Who are you, Chiron? Who ... Who am we?" I asked.

Chiron smiled. He shifted his weight as if he were going to get up out of his wheelchair, but I knew that was impossible. He was paralyzed from the waist down.

"Who are you two?" he mused. "Well, that's the question we all want answered, isn't it? But for now, we should get you a bunk in cabin eleven. There will be new friends to meet. And plenty of time for lessons tomorrow. Besides, there will be s'mores at the campfire tonight, and I simply adore chocolate. "

And then he did rise from his wheelchair. But there was something odd about the way he did it. His blanket fell away from his legs, but the legs didn't move. His waist kept getting longer, rising above his belt. At first, I thought he was wearing very long, white velvet underwear, but as he kept rising out of the chair, taller than any man, I realized that the velvet underwear wasn't underwear; it was the front of an animal, muscle and sinew under coarse white fur. And the wheelchair wasn't a chair. It was some kind of container, an enormous box on wheels, and it must've been magic, because there's no way it could've held all of him. A leg came out, long and knobby-kneed, with a huge polished hoof. Then another front leg, then hindquarters, and then the box was empty, nothing but a metal shell with a couple of fake human legs attached.

I stared at the horse who had just sprung from the wheelchair: a huge white stallion. But where its neck should be was the upper body of my Latin teacher, smoothly grafted to the horse's trunk.

"What a relief," the centaur said. "I'd been cooped up in there so long, my fetlocks had fallen asleep. Now, come, Percy and Melissa Jackson. Let's meet the other campers."


	7. Supreme Lords of the Bathroomn

**Chapter 7 - Percy and I are Supreme Lords of the Bathroom**

* * *

Once we got over the fact that our Latin teacher was a horse, we had a nice tour, though we were careful not to walk behind him. I'd done pooper-scooper patrol in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade a few times, and, I'm sorry, I did not trust Chiron's back end the way I trusted his front.

We passed the volleyball pit. Several of the campers nudged each other. One pointed to the minotaur horn Percy was carrying. Another said, "That's them."

Most of the campers were older than us. Their satyr friends were bigger than Grover, all of them trotting around in orange CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirts, with nothing else to cover their bare shaggy hindquarters. I wasn't normally shy, but the way they stared at us made me uncomfortable. I felt like they were expecting us to do a flip or something.

I looked back at the farmhouse. It was a lot bigger than I'd realized-four stories tall, sky blue with white trim, like an upscale seaside resort. I was checking out the brass eagle weather vane on top when something caught my eye, a shadow in the uppermost window of the attic gable. Something had moved the curtain, just for a second, and I got the distinct impression I was being watched.

"What's up there?" I asked Chiron.

He looked where I was pointing, and his smile faded. "Just the attic. "

"Somebody lives there?"

"No," he said with finality. "Not a single living thing. "

I got the feeling he was being truthful. But I was also sure something had moved that curtain.

"Come along, you two," Chiron said, his lighthearted tone now a little forced. "Lots to see."

We walked through the strawberry fields, where campers were picking bushels of berries while a satyr played a tune on a reed pipe.

Chiron told us the camp grew a nice crop for export to New York restaurants and Mount Olympus. "It pays our expenses, " he explained. "And the strawberries take almost no effort. "

He said Mr. D had this effect on fruit-bearing plants: they just went crazy when he was around. It worked best with wine grapes, but Mr. D was restricted from growing those, so they grew strawberries instead.

I watched the satyr playing his pipe. His music was causing lines of bugs to leave the strawberry patch in every direction like refugees fleeing a fire. I wondered if Grover could work that kind of magic with music. I wondered if he was still inside the farmhouse getting chewed out by Mr. D

"Grover won't get in too much trouble, will he?" I asked Chiron. "I mean ... He was a good protector. Really. "

Chiron sighed. He shed his tweed jacket and draped it over his horses back like a saddle. "Grover has big dreams, Melissa. Perhaps bigger than are reasonable. To reach his goal, he must first demonstrate great courage by succeeding as a keeper, finding a new camper and bringing him or her safely to Half-Blood Hill."

"But he did that!"

"I might agree with you," Chiron said. "But it is not my place to judge. Dionysus and the Council of Cloven Elders must decide. I'm afraid they might not see this assignment as a success. After all, Grover lost the two of you in New York. Then there's the unfortunate ... Ah ... Fate of your mother. And the fact that Grover was unconscious when you dragged him over the property line. The council might question whether this shows any courage on Grover's part."

I wanted to protest. None of what happened was Grover's fault. I also felt really, really guilty. If we hadn't given Grover the slip at the bus station, he might not have gotten in trouble.

"He'll get a second chance, won't he?"

Chiron winced. "I'm afraid that was Grover's second chance, Percy. The council was not anxious to give him another, either, after what happened the first time, five years ago. Olympus knows, I advised him to wait longer before trying again. He's still so small for his age... . "

"How old is he?"

"Oh, twenty-eight. "

"What! And he's in sixth grade?"

"Satyrs mature half as fast as humans, Percy. Grover has been the equivalent of a middle school student for the past six years. "

"That's horrible. "

"Quite, " Chiron agreed. "At any rate, Grover is a late bloomer, even by satyr standards, and not yet very accomplished at woodland magic. Alas, he was anxious to pursue his dream. Perhaps now he will find some other career..."

"That's not fair, " I said. "What happened the first time? Was it really so bad?"

Chiron looked away quickly. "Let's move along, shall we?"

But I wasn't quite ready to let the subject drop. Something had occurred to me when Chiron talked about my mother's fate, as if he were intentionally avoiding the word death. The beginnings of an idea - a tiny, hopeful fire - started forming in my mind and by glancing quickly at Percy, I could tell the same thing was happening to him.

"Chiron," I said. "If the gods and Olympus and all that are real ... "

"Yes, child?"

"Does that mean the Underworld is real, too?"

Chiron's expression darkened.

"Yes, child. " He paused, as if choosing his words care-fully. "There is a place where spirits go after death. But for now ... Until we know more ... I would urge you to put that out of your mind. "

"What do you mean, 'until we know more'?"

"Come, Percy. Let's see the woods. "

As we got closer, I realized how huge the forest was. It took up at least a quarter of the valley, with trees so tall and thick, you could imagine nobody had been in there since the Native Americans.

Chiron said, "The woods are stocked, if you care to try your luck, but go armed. "

"Stocked with what?" I asked. "Armed with what?"

"You'll see. Capture the flag is Friday night. Do you have your own swords and shields?"

"Our own-?"

"No," Chiron said. "I don't suppose you do. I think a size five will do for Percy and a size four for you Melissa. I'll visit the armory later."

I wanted to ask what kind of summer camp had an armory, but there was too much else to think about, so the tour continued. We saw the archery range, the canoeing lake, the stables (which Chiron didn't seem to like very much), the javelin range, the sing-along amphitheater, and the arena where Chiron said they held sword and spear fights.

"Sword and spear fights?" I asked.

"Cabin challenges and all that," he explained. "Not lethal. Usually. Oh, yes, and there's the mess hall. "

Chiron pointed to an outdoor pavilion framed in white Grecian columns on a hill overlooking the sea. There were a dozen stone picnic tables. No roof. No walls.

"What do you do when it rains?" Percy asked.

Chiron looked at me as if he'd gone a little weird. "We still have to eat, don't we?" We decided to drop the subject.

Finally, he showed us the cabins. There were twelve of them, nestled in the woods by the lake. They were arranged in a U, with two at the base and five in a row on either side. And they were without doubt the most bizarre collection of buildings I'd ever seen.

Except for the fact that each had a large brass number above the door (odds on the left side, evens on the right), they looked absolutely nothing alike. Number nine had smokestacks, like a tiny factory. Number four had tomato vines on the walls and a roof made out of real grass. Seven seemed to be made of solid gold, which gleamed so much in the sunlight it was almost impossible to look at. They all faced a commons area about the size of a soccer field, dotted with Greek statues, fountains, flower beds, and a couple of basketball hoops.

In the center of the field was a huge stone-lined firepit. Even though it was a warm afternoon, the hearth smoldered. A girl about nine years old was tending the flames, poking the coals with a stick.

The pair of cabins at the head of the field, numbers one and two, looked like his-and-hers mausoleums, big white marble boxes with heavy columns in front. Cabin one was the biggest and bulkiest of the twelve. Its polished bronze doors shimmered like a hologram, so that from different angles lightning bolts seemed to streak across them. Cabin two was more graceful somehow, with slimmer columns garlanded with pomegranates and flowers. The walls were carved with images of peacocks.

"Zeus and Hera?" I guessed.

"Correct, " Chiron said.

"Their cabins look empty. "

"Several of the cabins are. That's true. No one ever stays in one or two. "

Okay. So each cabin had a different god, like a mascot. Twelve cabins for the twelve Olympians. But why would some be empty?

I stopped in front of the first cabin on the left, cabin three.

It wasn't high and mighty like cabin one, but long and low and solid. The outer walls were of rough gray stone studded with pieces of seashell and coral, as if the slabs had been hewn straight from the bottom of the ocean floor. I peeked inside the open doorway and Chiron said, "Oh, I wouldn't do that!"

Before he could pull me back, I caught the salty scent of the interior, like the wind on the shore at Montauk. The interior walls glowed like abalone. There were six empty bunk beds with silk sheets turned down. But there was no sign anyone had ever slept there. The place felt so sad and lonely, I was glad when Chiron put his hand on my shoulder and said, "Come along, Percy. "

Most of the other cabins were crowded with campers.

Number five was bright red-a real nasty paint job, as if the color had been splashed on with buckets and fists. The roof was lined with barbed wire. A stuffed wild boar's head hung over the doorway, and its eyes seemed to follow me. Inside I could see a bunch of mean-looking kids, both girls and boys, arm wrestling and arguing with each other while rock music blared. The loudest was a girl maybe thirteen or fourteen. She wore a size XXXL CAMP HALF-BLOOD T-shirt under a camouflage jacket. She zeroed in on me and gave me an evil sneer. She reminded me of Nancy Bobofit, though the camper girl was much bigger and tougher looking, and her hair was long and stringy, and brown instead of red.

I kept walking, trying to stay clear of Chiron's hooves. "We haven't seen any other centaurs, " I observed.

"No," said Chiron sadly. "My kinsmen are a wild and barbaric folk, I'm afraid. You might encounter them in the wilderness, or at major sporting events. But you won't see any here."

"You said your name was Chiron. Are you really ... "

He smiled down at me. "The Chiron from the stories? Trainer of Hercules and all that? Yes, Percy and Melissa, I am."

"But, shouldn't you be dead?"

Chiron paused, as if the question intrigued him. "I honestly don't know about should be. The truth is, I can't be dead. You see, eons ago the gods granted my wish. I could continue the work I loved. I could be a teacher of heroes as long as humanity needed me. I gained much from that wish ... And I gave up much. But I'm still here, so I can only assume I'm still needed. "

I thought about being a teacher for three thousand years. It wouldn't have made my Top Ten Things to Wish For list.

"Doesn't it ever get boring?"

"No, no, " he said. "Horribly depressing, at times, but never boring. "

"Why depressing?"

Chiron seemed to turn hard of hearing again.

"Oh, look, " he said. "Annabeth is waiting for us. "

The blond girl we'd met at the Big House was reading a book in front of the last cabin on the left, number eleven.

When we reached her, she looked Percy over critically, like she was still thinking about how much he drooled.

I tried to see what she was reading, but I couldn't make out the title. I thought my dyslexia was acting up. Then I realized the title wasn't even English. The letters looked Greek to me. I mean, literally Greek. There were pictures of temples and statues and different kinds of columns, like those in an architecture book.

"Annabeth," Chiron said, "I have masters' archery class at noon. Would you take Percy and Melissa from here?"

"Yes, sir."

"Cabin eleven," Chiron told us, gesturing toward the doorway. "Make yourself at home."

Out of all the cabins, eleven looked the most like a regular old summer camp cabin, with the emphasis on old. The threshold was worn down, the brown paint peeling. Over the doorway was one of those doctor's symbols, a winged pole with two snakes wrapped around it. What did they call it ...? A caduceus I think.

Inside, it was packed with people, both boys and girls, way more than the number of bunk beds. Sleeping bags were spread all over on the floor. It looked like a gym where the Red Cross had set up an evacuation center.

Chiron didn't go in. The door was too low for him. But when the campers saw him they all stood and bowed respectfully.

"Well, then, " Chiron said. "Good luck, Percy. I'll see you at dinner. "

He galloped away toward the archery range.

I stood in the doorway, looking at the kids. They weren't bowing anymore. They were staring at me, sizing me up. I knew this routine. I'd gone through it at enough schools.

"Well?" Annabeth prompted. "Go on. "

So naturally I tripped coming in the door and made a total fool of myself. There were some snickers from the campers, but none of them said anything.

Annabeth announced, "Percy and Melissa Jackson, meet cabin eleven.

"Regular or undetermined?" somebody asked.

I didn't know what to say, but Annabeth said, "Undetermined. "

Everybody groaned.

A guy who was a little older than the rest came forward. "Now, now, campers. That's what we're here for. Welcome, Percy. You can have that spot on the floor, right over there. "

The guy was about nineteen, and he was pretty cute. He was tall and muscular, with short-cropped sandy hair and a friendly smile. He wore an orange tank top, cutoffs, sandals, and a leather necklace with five different-colored clay beads. The only thing unsettling about his appearance was a thick white scar that ran from just beneath his right eye to his jaw, like an old knife slash.

"This is Luke, " Annabeth said, and her voice sounded different somehow. I glanced over and could've sworn she was blushing. She saw me looking, and her expression hardened again. "He's your counselor for now. "

"For now?" I asked.

"You're undetermined," Luke explained patiently. "They don't know what cabin to put you in, so you're here. Cabin eleven takes all newcomers, all visitors. Naturally, we would. Hermes, our patron, is the god of travelers."

I looked at the tiny section of floor they'd given us. We had nothing to put there to mark it as my own, no luggage, no clothes, no sleeping bag. Just the Minotaur's horn. I thought about setting that down, but then I remembered that Hermes was also the god of thieves.

I looked around at the campers' faces, some sullen and suspicious, some grinning stupidly, some eyeing me as if they were waiting for a chance to pick my pockets.

"How long will we be here?" I asked.

"Good question, " Luke said. "Until you're determined. "

"How long will that take?" Percy asked stupidly. I may not know myself, but I know by the looks on some of the kids in the cabin.

The campers all laughed.

"Come on, " Annabeth told me. "I'll show you the volleyball court."

"I've already seen it."

"Come on." She grabbed our wrists and dragged us outside. I could hear the kids of cabin eleven laughing behind me.

When we were a few feet away, Annabeth said, "Jackson, you have to do better than that."

"What?"

She rolled her eyes and mumbled under her breath, "I can't believe I thought you were the one."

"What's your problem?" Percy was getting angry now. "All I know is, I killed some bull guy-"

"Don't talk like that!" Annabeth told me. "You know how many kids at this camp wish they'd had your chance?"

"To get killed?"

"To fight the Minotaur! What do you think we train for?"

He shook his. "Look, if the thing I fought really was the Minotaur, the same one in the stories ... "

"Yes."

"Then there's only one."

"Yes."

"And he died, like, a gajillion years ago, right? Theseus killed him in the labyrinth. So ... "

"Monsters don't die, Percy. They can be killed. But they don't die."

"Oh, thanks. That clears it up."

"They don't have souls, like you and me. You can dispel them for a while, maybe even for a whole lifetime if you're lucky. But they are primal forces. Chiron calls them archetypes. Eventually, they re-form."

I thought about Mrs. Dodds. "You mean if I killed one, accidentally, with a sword-"

"The Fur ... I mean, your math teacher. That's right. She's still out there. You just made her very, very mad."

"How did you know about Mrs. Dodds?" Percy asked.

"You talk in your sleep."

"Yeah, you do Percy, sorry,"

"You almost called her something. A Fury? They're Hades' torturers, right?"

Annabeth glanced nervously at the ground, as if she expected it to open up and swallow her. "You shouldn't call them by name, even here. We call them the Kindly Ones, if we have to speak of them at all."

"Look, is there anything we can say without it thundering?" I sounded whiny, even to myself, but right then I didn't care. "Why do I have to stay in cabin eleven, anyway? Why is everybody so crowded together? There are plenty of empty bunks right over there."

I pointed to the first few cabins, and Annabeth turned pale. "You don't just choose a cabin, Percy. It depends on who your parents are. Or ... your parent."

She stared at me, waiting for me to get it.

"My mom is Sally Jackson," I said. "She works at the candy store in Grand Central Station. At least, she used to."

"I'm sorry about your mom. But that's not what I mean. I'm talking about your other parent. Your dad."

"He's dead. We never knew him." I said.

Annabeth sighed. Clearly, she'd had this conversation before with other kids. "Your father's not dead, Melissa."

"How can you say that? You know him?"

"No, of course not."

"Then how can you say—"

"Because I know you. You wouldn't be here if you weren't one of us."

"You don't know anything about us." Percy growled.

"No?" She raised an eyebrow. "I bet you moved around from school to school. I bet you were kicked out of a lot of them.

"How—"

"Diagnosed with dyslexia. Probably ADHD, too."

I tried to swallow my embarrassment. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"Taken together, it's almost a sure sign. The letters float off the page when you read, right? That's because your minds are hardwired for ancient Greek. And the ADHD—you're impulsive, can't sit still in the classroom. That's your battle-field reflexes. In a real fight, they'd keep you alive. As for the attention problems, that's because you see too much, Percy, not too little. Your senses are better than a regular mortal's. Of course the teachers want you medicated. Most of them are monsters. They don't want you seeing them for what they are."

"You sound like ... you went through the same thing?"

"Most of the kids here did. If you weren't like us, you couldn't have survived the Minotaur, much less the ambrosia and nectar."

"Ambrosia and nectar."

"The food and drink we were giving you to make you better. That stuff would've killed a normal kid. It would've turned your blood to fire and your bones to sand and you'd both be dead. Face it. You're half-bloods."

Half-bloods.

I was reeling with so many questions I didn't know where to start.

Then a husky voice yelled, "Well! A newbie!"

I looked over. The big girl from the ugly red cabin was sauntering toward us. She had three other girls behind her, all big and ugly and mean looking like her, all wearing camo jackets.

"Clarisse," Annabeth sighed. "Why don't you go polish your spear or something?"

"Sure, Miss Princess," the big girl said. "So I can run you through with it Friday night."

''Erre es korakas!" Annabeth said, which I somehow under-stood was Greek for 'Go to the crows though I had a feeling it was a worse curse than it sounded.

"You don't stand a chance."

"We'll pulverize you," Clarisse said, but her eye twitched. Perhaps she wasn't sure she could follow through on the threat. She turned toward me. "Who are these little runts?"

"Percy and Melissa Jackson," Annabeth said, "meet Clarisse, Daughter of Ares."

I blinked. "Like ... the war god?"

Clarisse sneered. "You got a problem with that?"

"No," Percy said, recovering his wits. "It explains the bad smell."

Clarisse growled. "We got an initiation ceremony for newbies, Prissy."

"Percy." I corrected.

"Whatever. Come on, I'll show you."

"Clarisse—" Annabeth tried to say.

"Stay out of it, wise girl."

Annabeth looked pained, but she did stay out of it, and we didn't really want her help. We were the new kids. We had to earn our own rep.

Percy handed Annabeth the minotaur horn and we got ready to fight, but before we knew it, Clarisse had us by our necks and was dragging us toward a cinder-block building that I knew immediately was the bathroom.

We were kicking and punching. Percy'd been in plenty of fights before, but this big girl Clarisse had hands like iron. She dragged me into the girls' bathroom.

There was a line of toilets on one side and a line of shower stalls down the other. It smelled just like any public bathroom, and I was thinking—as much as I could think with Clarisse ripping my hair out—that if this place belonged to the gods, they should've been able to afford classier johns.

Clarisse's friends were all laughing, and I was trying to find the strength I'd found facing the Minotaur, but it just wasn't there.

"Like they're 'Big Three' material," Clarisse said as she pushed us toward one of the toilets. "Yeah, right. Minotaur probably fell over laughing, they was so stupid looking."

Her friends snickered.

Annabeth stood in the corner, watching through her fingers.

Clarisse bent us over on our knees and started pushing our heads toward the toilet bowl. It reeked like rusted pipes and, well, like what goes into toilets. I strained to keep my head up. I was looking at the scummy water, thinking, I will not go into that. I won't.

Somehow I knew Percy was thinking the same thing.

Then something happened. I felt a tug in the pit of my stomach. I heard the plumbing rumble, the pipes shudder. Clarisse's grip on my hair loosened. Water shot out of the toilet, making an arc straight over our heads, and the next thing I knew, I was sprawled on the bathroom tiles with Percy beside me and Clarisse screaming behind me.

I turned just as water blasted out of the toilet again, hitting Clarisse straight in the face so hard it pushed her down onto her butt. The water stayed on her like the spray from a fire hose, pushing her backward into a shower stall.

She struggled, gasping, and her friends started coming toward her. But then the other toilets exploded, too, and six more streams of toilet water blasted them back. The showers acted up, too, and together all the fixtures sprayed the camouflage girls right out of the bathroom, spinning them around like pieces of  
garbage being washed away.

As soon as they were out the door, I felt the tug in my gut lessen, and the water shut off as quickly as it had started.

The entire bathroom was flooded. Annabeth hadn't been spared. She was dripping wet, but she hadn't been pushed out the door. She was standing in exactly the same place, staring at us in shock.

I looked down and realized I was sitting in the only dry spot in the whole room. There was a circle of dry floor around me and Percy. We didn't have one drop of water on our clothes. Nothing.

We stood up, legs shaky.

Annabeth said, "How did you ..."

"I don't know."

We walked to the door. Outside, Clarisse and her friends were sprawled in the mud, and a bunch of other campers had gathered around to gawk. Clarisse's hair was flattened across her face. Her camouflage jacket was sop-ping and she smelled like sewage. She gave me a look of absolute hatred.

"You are dead, new kids. You are totally dead."

I probably should have let it go, but I said, "You want to gargle with toilet water again, Clarisse? Close your mouth."

Her friends had to hold her back. They dragged her toward cabin five, while the other campers made way to avoid her flailing feet. Annabeth stared at me. I couldn't tell whether she was just grossed out or angry at me for dousing her.

"What?" I demanded. "What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking," she said, "that I want you two on my team for capture the flag."


End file.
